


International Relations

by captain_iodine (orphan_account)



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Alcohol, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 02:53:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7667494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/captain_iodine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the middle of the fight for the survival of organic life across the galaxy, a wedding is just the distraction everybody needs.</p><p>What is it they say about weddings making people feel lonely?</p>
            </blockquote>





	International Relations

**Author's Note:**

> This work started out originally as a short and sweet two-parter prompted by fan art of Kaidan Alenko in a suit ([this one](http://www.dreamreaper.nl/images/kai_tux.jpg), in fact). Since I apparently can't leave well enough alone, I've rewritten my original fic entirely. Here there be angst, but don't worry - the boys will get a treat in the next chapter.

There’s always time for weddings, even in the middle of a war.

Maybe it’s the threat of impending annihilation, but it seems to Shepard that everybody is a little more _in love_ lately. Even on the Normandy there’s budding romance in the air, and fraternization is all but overlooked.

Shepard? He’s too busy trying to keep himself in one piece to bother looking for love. Not that he hasn’t thought about it before, of course.

The bride is beautiful, the pale blue of her skin set off by her lavender gown. Her whole family seems to have gathered — other asari, humans, even a krogan. Her husband, a human with a crooked nose and a proud smile, can’t seem to take his eyes off her.

Shepard has barely spared the couple a glance all evening; his attention lies elsewhere.

Even in civilian attire, Kaidan is unmistakable. Hair parted to the side like some heartthrob from an age gone by, clean-shaven and standing tall. He’s wearing a tux so perfectly tailored that it looks like he was poured into it. Shepard bets he even smells good.

He’s been toying with the idea of going over to talk to his comrade all night, but something holds him back. Maybe it’s the fact that the first thought that popped into his head when he saw the other man was how much better that crisp, expensive suit of his would look on the floor.

He busies himself with a salarian who has some story about how Shepard and his team saved him, and as much as Shepard might try to pay attention he just _can’t_. The salarian’s words occasionally penetrate his thoughts enough to prompt him to give a weak _Yeah_ or _Oh, really?_ — even as he drags his eyes from Kaidan and back onto the salarian for the nth time, he knows he’s fighting a losing battle.

‘Would you excuse me?’ he says, probably interrupting a sentence without realizing it. The salarian looks momentarily surprised, although he stammers out some polite response about the Commander being a busy man. Shepard has already forgotten whatever it was he was saying.

He finds his way to the bar through the crush of bodies — guests of all races, although he notices that there are very few turians there that day. Once at the bar, his notoriety affords him the privilege of being served first as guests part like the tide to let him ahead of them. Being the most famous person in the galaxy has its perks sometimes.

He orders something strong and generic, and when the glass is set in front of him he can smell the harsh tang of it before he ever lifts it to his lips. _Good._

A hand touches his waist and from the way the hairs stand up on the back of his neck, he’d bet every last credit he has to his name that he knows who’s standing behind him.

‘Shepard?’

Even though the hand is gone, Shepard can still feel the ghost of it there through the layers of his formal Alliance attire. He tries not to turn too quickly, not to seem to eager as he feigns surprise to see the other man there.

‘Kaidan.'

He thinks he hits the right note; a moment later he feels a little guilty that he’s being dishonest with his team mate, even over something so silly. When did it get like this?

‘I didn’t know you were going to be here,’ Kaidan says. His cheeks are a little rosy — too much champagne. ‘You know the couple?’

Shepard shrugs. He got an invite a few weeks earlier and it had been a little too imploring to ignore. Something about him being the reason the couple were together now. He doesn’t bother to explain.

‘Keeping a low profile?’ he asks, gesturing to Kaidan’s tux. He neglects to add how strange it is to see the man in civilian duds.

‘Something like that,’ Kaidan says, pausing to flash a gesture to the bartender by way of making an order. ‘I know the groom, couple of other people. Didn’t wanna come here all decked-out like it was a formality.’

That, and the anonymity is probably nice — not that that’s an option for Shepard any more.

‘Must be nice to be able to grab a drink in peace,’ he says. ‘I’ve lost count of how many people I’ve met today.’

Kaidan laughs and Shepard feels a little pang of pleasure to hear it. Reflexively, he takes a sip of his drink. He’s probably going to need it.

‘You look good,’ he says, before he can think twice.

‘You too, Shepard.’

They fall into a silence that would probably be comfortable if Shepard weren’t so keenly aware of Kaidan standing so close to him. He’s run this over a thousand times before — this isn’t the first time they’ve been this close, nor will it be the last. They’ve fought together, bled together. Hell, they’ve seen each other naked countless times in the shared showers aboard the Normandy. Why is it that now, of all times, he’s finding it so difficult?

He shifts, moving his weight from one foot to the other. The collar of his jacket seems just a little too tight, a little too constricting.

‘There’s room at the end of the bar if you wanna sit down,’ Kaidan says, and Shepard jumps at the offer.

Any other night, any other wedding, any other companion and Shepard would have been full of irreverent banter. He finds himself lost for words and every effort he can think of to start up a conversation stops before it can leave his lips. Once they find a pair of seats next to each other they sit down and there’s more silence, and Shepard wonders if it’s always going to be like this.

It wasn’t always, not at the beginning. Back then their ranks had set them apart and yet it hadn’t stopped him from flirting with the Lieutenant, being just a little _too nice_ and a little _too familiar_. He had tricked himself back then into thinking that that was just how he interacted with folks, but it wasn’t — it never had been. 

He thinks after everything they’ve been through it should be easier to talk to Kaidan now, to blur the lines between soldiers and friends. Instead, it’s harder than ever.

‘Whew.’

He looks up. Kaidan has his glass in his hand, filled with the same drink Shepard ordered, and from the looks of it he wasn’t expecting the taste.

‘Is it just me or is booze actually getting _worse_ these days?’

Shepard allows himself to smirk. He can think of times when they’ve shared alcohol that could have stripped paint, happily guzzling it down by the glass on shore leave. Either Kaidan’s memory is fuzzy or he’s making small talk.

‘I think maybe you’re getting old,’ he replies, and for a moment he considers that perhaps he’s right. Kaidan’s thick black hair is shot with a few stray grays, and while it’s a fetching look it makes for a marked difference from the days when he was a fresh-faced Lieutenant, back before everything.

‘Hey,’ Kaidan says, a little offended. ‘You’re not exactly getting younger, Jack.’

There’s a fleeting instant where Shepard worries he said the wrong thing, but then the corner of Kaidan’s mouth quirks up and he could kick himself. Besides — Kaidan used his first name. It’s been a while.

‘I’m not knocking it,’ he says, with a shrug. ‘Any day now we can retire, make the most of those Alliance pensions.’

Kaidan snorts.

‘Like you’ve got the patience for retirement.’

_Maybe we’ll never find out._

Shepard keeps it to himself; this isn’t the time or place. Still, the thought is there and it festers at the back of his mind, sour and unmoving.

He knocks back the rest of his drink. Barely flinches, in spite of the taste.

‘I’m gonna go get some air,’ he says.

The party is too loud, too stifling, and damnit if being around Kaidan isn’t just a reminder of the war still going on outside these walls.

If Kaidan is disappointed, he doesn’t make a show of it — just takes a sip of his own drink with the slightest grimace.

‘Sure thing, Commander.’

Shepard gives a little nod and turns to go. A part of him wishes Kaidan would call out to stop him, but what then? They’ve been at war for too long, come close to death too many times. Shepard wonders if they even know how to be friends any more.

He slips through the crowd, thankful that nobody tries to strike up chit-chat along the way. There’s a bitter taste in his mouth, only partly from the booze, and he doesn’t think he could muster small talk if his life depended on it.


End file.
